"Goodbye, Jane, Lizzy, Mr Bingley!"
"Goodbye, Lydia!"
"Farewell, Mrs Wickham. I hope your trip is pleasant."
"Goodbye, Mr Darcy. I will try and be good, I promise." Darcy flushed deeply as Lydia impulsively flung her arms around him and kissed his cheek. "I think you are the nicest man I have ever met," she whispered. "Marry Lizzy soon, won't you?"
"Thank you," said Darcy.
"Bye-bye Aunt Lydia," chorused the Bingley children.
Anne and Betsey examined each other. "Goodbye, Miss Wickham," Anne said, imitating her father's cold civility.
"Goodbye," said Betsey, and stuck her tongue out.
"Betsey!" Jane exclaimed. Anne sniffed and retreated behind her father's leg. The five children, two nursemaids, and Lydia herself were piled into the carriage, and with one last "Goodbye!" set off.
---
Darcy and Elizabeth were far less circumspect once Lydia was gone, although still discreet out of regard for propriety. When possible, they met outside, taking long walks around Baildon. For the first time, Elizabeth lamented the comparatively small size of the park -- although larger than Longbourn, it was much smaller than even Netherfield, let alone Pemberley or Rosings. The grounds were so neat and trim that it was impossible to unfortunately lose their way. Even worse, as autumn was left firmly behind, there were fewer and fewer opportunities to walk outside, and they were forced to happen across one another within the house.
Nevertheless, Elizabeth decided, there was something to be said for the library. Neither Bingley nor Jane nor Lady Elliot nor any of their children were in the habit of frequenting that room, while Darcy spent hours at a time there -- even when she was not present. There was a sort of intimacy fostered by their shared delight in its contents. She remembered the first time she found him there, seated near a window, sitting perfectly, inflexibly, upright. His eyes were fixed on the book he was reading, the only sound the loud, contented purring of Mrs Burrows' mouser, which was curled on Darcy's lap. There had been something so domestic about the scene that she could almost imagine they were married already --
"Hello, Mr Darcy," she said, and he started, jerking his eyes up to meet hers with a delighted expression.
"Miss Bennet! What a -- " he disengaged the cat and scrambled gracefully to his feet -- "pleasure."
There were, it seemed, a hundred little things she could not but help find endearing. That day, it was his fondness for cats, and it took very little effort on her part to draw out the childhood tale of his first feline, the recalcitrant Alfred. His eyes danced as he spoke, enchanting her anew, and he seemed at least as delighted with her. She rather thought that he would be content to simply enjoy her company, listening to her voice and gazing at her face. However, much as she enjoyed reciprocating the attention, such complacence was not for her. She did not dream of contentment but joy.
Anne -- for she had to be considered, even were she not so attached to her father -- accompanied them about half the time, and Elizabeth found her to be wilful, haughty, clever, and delightful beyond belief. In many ways, Anne was more like the Darcy she remembered than was Darcy himself. It seemed, sometimes, that all but the bare essentials had been burnt away. She was pleased to see him growing a little more like his old self, more like his daughter, who often watched her with a curious expression, as if not entirely certain what she was about. Despite Anne's friendship with Jenny, she seemed happiest when in her father's company, and often fell asleep at Darcy's side or in his arms. Jane had once said that bearing children changed one forever -- one was never the same person afterwards -- one's identity was forever wrapped up in mother -- and somehow Elizabeth had never understood, until now. It was bizarre, because Darcy was certainly not Anne's mother in the respect that Jane meant -- but she only truly comprehended on the day that she stopped, watching silently and surreptitiously, the picture startlingly incongruous -- tall, austere Fitzwilliam Darcy, gently rocking the little girl in his arms, her cheek pillowed on his shoulder. There was both wonder and tenderness in his face, and Elizabeth's heart caught in her chest.
She realised, then, that the matter was not so simple as she had at first thought. He loved her, and she him; that much was plain. However, his heart was not the only one she had to win over, nor was his the only opinion she need consider. She did not care to think of Anne's mother, and it was not a difficult feat -- Anne and Rosemary were nothing alike, in manner or countenance -- but if he did propose -- again -- she would have to think of her predecessor. She knew nothing of her ladyship's ways, what example she had set -- although she was certain the other woman had been a model of decorum and propriety.
After fretting herself awake one night, she grew impatient and when speaking with Darcy the following day, turned the conversation in that direction. "What was she like?" Elizabeth asked. "I scarcely exchanged five words with her, but she seemed very . . ." she forced a complimentary word out -- "well-bred."
Darcy looked startled, as if she were speaking of a stranger. "Rosemary?" He shrugged. "She was kind, and sweet-natured, and quiet -- a little like Mrs Bingley, but --" he hesitated -- "not quite so . . . modest. And --" he smiled, with a trace of affection in his look -- very like how he appeared when he spoke of his cousin or his grandmother -- "she was very different before Anne was born. She actually tried to cut my hair off."
Elizabeth stared. "I beg your pardon?"
"Her moods were very strange that year, but the rest of the time I knew her she was usually serene and even-tempered." He turned his head to look at her, his expression intent. "Why do you ask?"
"I was only wondering if Miss Darcy was much like her mother."
"Not at all," Darcy said cheerfully. Then, cautiously, he added, "Anne and I both favour the Fitzwilliams, but she has a -- a vivacity -- that is very unlike both her parents. I -- I am not very lively, myself." Then, speaking so softly that she could scarcely hear him -- she was quite certain he did not mean to be heard, and perhaps did not even realise he was speaking aloud -- he added, "She is more like you, in that way."
His look was distinctly strange -- somehow distressed, although she could not imagine -- she stared, her brows drawn together, wishing not for the first time that she could hear his thoughts.
---
The entire party at Baildon -- the Bingleys and their children, Lady Elliot and her children (who could not be civilly excluded from the invitation), Mrs Gardiner and the girls, Darcy, Anne, and Elizabeth -- fortunately divided into two carriages, all travelled the thirty miles to Pemberley in late November. Elizabeth was eager to see it again, and felt like a child as she peered out, feeling distinctly silly next to the elegant Lady Elliot. Jane had insisted upon bundling her so thoroughly that she was shaped rather like a teapot, but as soon as they reached the last peak, and looked down at the valley, she forgot everything but Pemberley.
It was more beautiful than she remembered -- perhaps it was the effect of winter rather than summer, the snow covering everything in a layer of pristine white -- but somehow the image she had carried in her mind seemed pale compared to the reality. Amidst the cold purity of the grounds, the house seemed warm and welcoming, and the entire party hurried out of the carriage, Darcy following last and offering his arm to Elizabeth and his hand to Anne.
As the servants helped them undress, Elizabeth turned and caught the sight of a tall, stately woman hurrying towards them. She was vaguely familiar; but it was only when she stood at Darcy's side and graciously joined him in welcoming them all to Pemberley, that the close resemblance between the siblings gave her identity away.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Bennet," Lady Westhampton said kindly, the expression in her dark eyes not so much suspicious as contemplative, and a little anxious.
The prospect of staying at Pemberley as a guest was a daunting one, but she quickly adapted. Avoiding Lady Elliot was not nearly as difficult, as Pemberley was well over twice Baildon's size; even without leaving the house, it took no great effort on her part. The unfortunate effect of this was that she saw less of Jane than she would have preferred, since Lady Elliot had taken a firm liking to Mrs Bingley after the wedding -- a liking which, surprisingly enough, persisted to this day, and which had affected Jane's perspective of her sister-in-law rather more than it ought, in Elizabeth's opinion. The two women, both up to their ears in all matters domestic, spent their time together swapping advice and opinions, and their friendship -- if friendship it could be called -- did not seem to have had an ill effect on either. Elizabeth, however, trusting Jane's discretion but not her composure, avoided their little gatherings, as she was certain Lady Elliot's icy civility would degenerate into something worse if she ever guessed at the truth.
To make up for that difficulty, however, there were Mrs Gardiner and the girls. Elizabeth had never had much to do with her cousins, as she was not someone with a great natural fondness for children, but she now found Margaret and Amelia to be a delight. That they referred to Darcy as their 'uncle' and Mrs Gardiner by his Christian name befuddled her for a moment, before the five of them laughingly explained how the situation had developed. Amelia, the most like Elizabeth, had -- for that reason or others -- always been Darcy's favourite among the children, and although she would no longer suffer herself to be whirled into the air, she could not restrain herself from clapping her hands at the simple trinkets bestowed on herself and her sisters.
Quiet little Margaret was nearly fifteen, and dreading her coming-out like nothing else. She also seemed to be struggling with a tendre for Darcy, which could not help but remind Elizabeth of poor Tom. She was not sure when or how it had happened, but the young stableman was utterly devoted to her, and seemed perfectly content to worship from a distance. It was rather unsettling, really, particularly given his clear antipathy towards the Collinses. She was glad that everyone else, including Darcy, seemed oblivious to Margaret's feelings.
The Westhamptons left only two days after her arrival -- they had been at Pemberley for far too long, as Darcy prudently sent for his sister as soon as Lydia took up residence. Lady Westhampton, although reserved, seemed as sensible and good-humoured as Elizabeth recalled; her husband was a charming, easy-mannered man, and Elizabeth quite liked them both. Their son she neither saw nor heard of; apparently due to his painful shyness, he preferred solitude. She caught the end of a conversation, and knew Darcy to be worried over his nephew's unshakable solemnity --
"Georgiana, even I was not like this."
"What am I to do?" Lady Westhampton inquired. "You know very well that there is nothing to be done. We can only wait for him to outgrow it. I cannot understand why you seem determined to --"
"He's getting worse," said Darcy, "not better. I am certain, something is wrong, he will not speak even to me -- "
Elizabeth could not bear to eavesdrop on such an intimate conversation, and cleared her throat. Brother and sister whirled around to stare at her, Georgiana looking distressed and Darcy relieved.
"Miss Bennet," they chorused, and she smiled.
"Mr Darcy, Lady Westhampton. Please excuse the intrusion -- I had no idea anyone was in here -- " she threw a longing glance at the books against the wall, making both siblings laugh despite their earlier intensity.
The three Westhamptons left early in the morning, and so she never saw little Stephen Deincourt; but the snatch of the conversation she had overheard told her the reason for Darcy's occasional preoccupation, and the worried line that formed between his brows when left silent too long. Nevertheless "the courtship" proceeded properly, and more easily than it had at Baildon. She was quite certain from some of the looks he gave her, and from the wash of heat that so frequently overwhelmed her -- sometimes at the most inappropriate moments -- that only her state of mourning kept him from renewing his proposals.
However, were matters not convoluted enough, they received company after only a mostly blissful fortnight at Pemberley. Elizabeth was just escaping the obligatory hour or two with Lady Elliot and Jane, when she ran almost directly into a party of three, two gentlemen and a lady. Despite the passage of years, the elder of the two men was immediately recognisable. He blinked.
"Miss Bennet?"
"Colonel Fitzwilliam," she said politely. His companions were clearly brother and sister; they were both dark and slightly-built -- in fact they were very like all in all -- but in something of a reversal of the usual way of things, he was by far the less handsome, the features so suited to her earthy, irregular beauty, somehow seemed unbalanced and even plain on his face. The servant accompanying them looked distinctly overwrought at this interruption to his usual procedure, and she said kindly, "I believe Mr Darcy is in his study." The lady's neatly-arched dark brows rose, and she gazed at Elizabeth with clear curiosity before following the servant. Elizabeth continued on her own way.
---
Mr Darcy, it transpired, was not in his study but the ever-useful library, and as Elizabeth slipped in, she smiled at his faintly startled expression, and after exchanging greetings, said, "Mr Darcy, did you know that Colonel Fitzwilliam is here?"
Astonishingly, an expression of dread came over his face. "Oh? Did his wife accompany him?"
Elizabeth blinked. "I believe so."
The horrified look grew even more pronounced. "Ah. I -- oh, hello, Fitzwilliam."
The colonel and his companions entered the room, trailed by the harried-looking servant. With a very faint smile, Darcy said, "Diggory, you may go."
Grateful, he obeyed, while the two cousins shook hands, Darcy retreating, by instinct, it seemed, to his old unsociable habits. He pointedly ignored the other pair.
"Miss Bennet, I do not believe you have been introduced? This is my wife, Mary, and her brother, Mr Crawford."
She pleasantly greeted them, wondering at Darcy's antipathy. Mary Fitzwilliam was in colouring not dissimilar from herself, and there was a liveliness in her manners that was also eerily familiar; but something about her dark eyes -- a hardness absent from her brother's -- Elizabeth could not help but find repellent.
"I must leave immediately, Darcy," Fitzwilliam was saying.
"So soon?" Darcy inquired, looking only a little disappointed. He took a step closer to Elizabeth as Mrs Fitzwilliam smiled at him, toying with his pen.
"Would you mind excusing my cousin and me?" Fitzwilliam asked of the others. "There is some business I must speak of him on."
"Of course," the Crawfords said, and Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before joining them, although she had no desire to be left alone with the siblings, whose very air denoted them the sort of people she least liked to associate with, not excluding Lady Elliot.
---
The colonel had business elsewhere -- apparently some sort of military duty -- and was, apparently, inviting his wife and her brother to Pemberley until he could fetch them back again. Elizabeth found herself dreading the following weeks, with good reason. It was clear that Mrs Fitzwilliam and Mr Crawford were not unduly burdened by scruples, and she certainly did not find her wedded state to be much of a hindrance in her pursuit of -- of all people! -- her husband's cousin. To make matters worse, Elizabeth frequently found herself being watched by the brother, and sympathised strongly with Darcy's plight. The only positive aspect to it all was that she and Darcy, with the solidarity of the hunted, had grown closer together; although, she did not realise how close, until late one evening, about a week before Christmas.